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Close To Monsters #32

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created, written & drawn by Maggie Taylor

This weeks Close To Monsters is brought to you by being annoyed at lifes minor inconveniences.

Buy My Book! (PAY WHAT YOU WANT)  Support Me Via Patreon!

I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I make, like my depressing webcomic “In Space, No One Can Hear You Cry”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my writing over at Medium. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!

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My Handyman Died

It’s been a hell of a month.

I just found out the other day, after a month of not seeing him and nobody telling us anything, that the handyman who used to work for the house my girlfriend and I rent in, died of a heart attack. His name was Tim. This has fucked with me on a number of levels, so allow me to go through them, if you will. First of all, I am somewhat shocked that the death of a man I only sort of kinda barely knew could make me weep as hard and often as I have the last week and a half. The last time I saw Tim was when he came over and mowed our front lawn. He brought his sweetheart of a Pitbull with him, and I sat with his dog on the porch as he mowed the lawn and took breaks so we could talk. It’s not that Tim was very educated, in fact when once engaged in conversation with my girlfriend he admitted he didn’t even know who Van Gogh was, but that didn’t make him stupid. It wasn’t that he was super interesting, either. He was just…nice. I guess the fact that I cared so much for a man I knew so little proves the point of how big my heart actually is, and how much kindness can really make you care for someone.

Secondly, Tims death makes me think about my own mortality. Not that I’m going to die anytime soon, at least not that I know of, someone could be waiting to assassinate me, I have no idea, but just in the general sense, you know? I deal with suicidal thoughts often, I constantly have panic attacks about non existence, and yet…yet when faced with death so near to me, it sort of halts all of that. It’s been a while since someone died in my family, especially someone I actually gave a big shit about, but it’s also different than that. This is the first time a FRIEND of mine has died. Family is different. I don’t know how or why, maybe it’s because you’re born to that set of people or something, but death in the family just has a different tone to it. But a friend…a friend is someone you seek out or choose to know. They’re someone you enjoy being around and so you want to be around them more and more. I met Tim out of necessity because he helped us move in and fix things around the house and such, but…he was my friend. Even if I admit to not knowing him all that well, he WAS my friend, and now he’s just a dead guy.

Apparently Tim died alone. I mean, he had his dog with him, but he died alone, in his apartment, from a heart attack. A friend is someone you’re supposed to be there for, and I couldn’t be there for Tim when he needed someone, and that’s been fucking with me too. I don’t know that I could’ve done anything even if I had been there, I mean he obviously couldn’t even dial 911 in time to get help, but the fact remains that I couldn’t be there for my friend when he needed someone, and that….fucking….hurts, man. It hurts bad. I’ve lost many friends, but mostly because they either weren’t my friends to begin with, we simply drifted apart, or whatever reason you wanna apply to it. But to lose a friend to death…it’s just not something I’m familiar with and I don’t know how to cope with it. And what’s worse is it’s GOING TO KEEP HAPPENING. As I get older, the people I consider close friends are going to fucking die, and a lot of them may die before me, and I am not prepared for that.

I am not prepared for anything, honestly.

For Tims sake, I hope it wasn’t that painful or that long, and I hope he knows people cared about him, even if we didn’t outright say it. I hope he knows that he had friends, because everyone deserves friends. Everyone deserves to feel like they aren’t alone.

I’ll miss you Tim.

Buy My Book! (PAY WHAT YOU WANT)  Support Me Via Patreon!

I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I make, like my depressing webcomic “In Space, No One Can Hear You Cry”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my writing over at Medium. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!

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Close To Monsters #31

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created, written & drawn by Maggie Taylor

This weeks comic is brought to you by the trappings and failing of academia! Wanna write your own caption for this comic strip? Then head on over to my Patreon, where for a mere 25 dollars a month, you not only get all the previous rewards, but also get the write a caption for one of these, and get credited for it!

Buy My Book!  Support Me Via Patreon!

I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I make, like my depressing webcomic “In Space, No One Can Hear You Cry”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my writing over at Medium. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!

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Close To Monsters #30

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Created, Written & Drawn by Maggie Taylor

This weeks comic is brought to you by the fact that you are nothing but an amalgamation of all your parents flaws and problems. Wanna write your own caption for this comic strip? Then head on over to my Patreon, where for a mere 25 dollars a month, you not only get all the previous rewards, but also get the write a caption for one of these, and get credited for it!

Buy My Book!  Support Me Via Patreon!

I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I make, like my depressing webcomic “In Space, No One Can Hear You Cry”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my writing over at Medium. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!

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This One Goes Out To You

Wanna hear quite possibly the most ironic thing of all time?

When I was a little girl, my mother used to play a lot of music in the house and in the car. I have to give my mother some credit for exposing me to a lot of media and helping widen my knowledge of pop culture, especially when it comes to music, so. One day, the song “Sweet Child O’ Mine” by Guns ‘N Roses came on, and I can’t remember where we were or what the situation was, but I distinctly recall her saying to me:

This was the song your father and I picked for you. This is your song.

If you’ve read my blog, and you know anything about my parents, my childhood, my relationship with my family or anything pertaining to that, you’d recognize this statement as full on fucking hilarious. Like, Emmy Award Winning Best Writing in a Comedy Series type of hilarious because it evokes so much foreshadowing and irony that nothing beats it. My parents are NOT the kind of people who believe in the lyrics portrayed in this song.

My mother, back in the day, was fairly okay. It wasn’t until she really got re-married when I was about 8 and started living with a psychologically abusive stepdad that she took a turn for the worse. There was a time when she was rather enjoyable and loving, but that all quickly changed and now, no matter how much she swears up and down she has changed, I cannot believe a word of it because I’ve been at the firing line firsthand. My father has never cared about me, at least not outside the abstract sense. He cares that someone exists who will carry on his last name (Taylor is not actually my last name), but seeing as I’m infertile, there’s hilarity in that as well. He has rarely reached out to talk since I was a young adult and often left me wildly depressed and disappointed as a little girl. I was usually nothing more than a bargaining chip between the two of them growing up, especially for my father, and it’s taught me to be extremely wary of people in general when they say they care for me.

When you dedicate a song to someone, you do it because you honestly, genuinely believe that song encapsulates how you feel towards the person you’re dedicating it to. We’ve all heard it said, that couple that goes, “Oh, this is OUR song!”. The song they play at their wedding, that they had on the radio on their first date or something. That one tune. But to dedicate a song, especially one as ultimately schmaltzy as “Sweet Child O’ Mine”, to your newborn daughter and then turn around and abuse her for years to come is completely insulting to the entire concept of dedicating songs to people. I mean, imagine taking lyrics like this:

I hate to look into those eyes and see an ounce of pain

and turning right around and inflicting that pain on your own child. You hate to see an ounce of pain? Then stop fucking hurting me. I know. I know. Every kid grows up to hate their parents and eventually realizes how much they loved them and blah blah blah. No. Some kids actually grew up in a broken fucking home. My home might’ve been lavish and we might’ve had money, but that didn’t make it any less goddamned broken, alright? My parents often fought about me right in front of my bedroom door so I’d feel bad, they often allowed my stepsiblings to make fun of me openly without defending me one bit, they often made fun of me THEMSELVES, which was hilarious, given that I actually put in the effort to get to know my stepfather and we shared more of the same common interests than his own children shared with him, and yet he STILL treated me poorly. Gee, I wonder why I don’t get close to people anymore? Hey, Maggie, why don’t you open up and let people in? Because if my body is a temple, then you fuckers are here to desecrate it.

…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get that emotional. I’m just sometimes in utter awe at the fact that people can be that two faced. That deceptive, especially to themselves about themselves. I was a scared, somewhat challenged little girl. All I wanted was a mom and a dad, any dad, who loved me. Who believed in me. Who supported me. Who wanted to be with me. You know what the end result in this is? By dedicating that song to me, and then not following through on loving me themselves, sometimes it feels like Guns ‘N Roses loved me more because, oh, it’s MY song. Think about that. I’m a 28 year old woman now, and I have a more parental connection to a fucking 80s rock ballad than to my own paternal figures. How is that ok.

I am nobodies sweet child.

Especially not yours, mom and dad.

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Close To Monsters #29

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Created, Written & Drawn by Maggie Taylor

This weeks comic is brought to you by the fact that you’d rather willingly have your organs harvested than attend to your responsibilities. Wanna write your own caption for this comic strip? Then head on over to my Patreon, where for a mere 25 dollars a month, you not only get all the previous rewards, but also get the write a caption for one of these, and get credited for it!

Buy My Book!  Support Me Via Patreon!

I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I make, like my depressing webcomic “In Space, No One Can Hear You Cry”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my writing over at Medium. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!

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The Name Tape

s-l1600When I was a little girl, one of the things my mother got me was this tape. It was blue, and it had your name on it, and about 5 songs in total. I was able to find a picture of it. Now, granted, my name isn’t Kevin, nor am I a boy, but this was the only image I was really able to find of these things.

I had a walkman, and I often listened to music when going out somewhere because the noises of society would be far too overwhelming and often distress me. I have very clear memories of sitting in front of our air conditioner in the mornings before my mom woke up, listening to this tape on repeat. Why? Because the songs on these tapes made me feel special, like someone had created it just for me, because kids are dumb and believe stupid shit like that. But, there’s another reason why it hit me so hard, and that’s because I had nobody else telling me I was special, at least not for some other reason, like academically or whatever.

See, when I was very young, I was often told I was bright or articulate or special because I had excellent memory, could recite entire stories at the drop of a dime and did fairly well in school, and thus a ton of praise was heaped on me. But nobody ever told me I was special just. for. being. ME. I know. I know. I can hear the hateful masses clammoring to be the first to tell me, “Waaah! The ‘everyone gets a trophy’ generation didn’t get pampered enough!”, yeah yeah, whatever. Fuck off. First of all, as kids, we didn’t create that concept, okay? That was for the parents so they didn’t have to deal with their kids crying because they didn’t also win something, alright? Our parents created that shit, not us, okay? And secondly, yes, being told you’re special as a child, especially when you’re a child like me, would’ve actually been very helpful because when someone tells you long enough that you’re NOT special, guess what? It decimates your self esteem and you stop ever being able to believe in yourself, and being that I never understood why everyone was mean to me or didn’t like me, it made me feel absolutely worthless, because nobody was telling me I’m special even without those strangers acceptance, and that I just need to focus on believing in myself.

Believe it or not, that shit MATTERS.

So I would listen to this tape, because this tape at least believed I was special for just being me, and that was something. Here were these singers who, despite obviously paid to do this, were telling me that I was actually special. That I did matter. And for fragile broken 6 year old me, that meant the WORLD. Nostalgia is a fickle beast. Some shows I rewatch from my childhood, they really don’t give me the same feelings I had when I watched them originally. It’s cool to rewatch them, but it does ultimately nothing for me beyond the “enjoyment” factor. But this tape…I can go on youtube and listen to the songs (granted not with my name in them), and it’s like a punch to the gut. I nearly start crying. It all comes rushing back to me for just a half hour and afterwards I feel so much better, so much more grounded.

In the end, a cassette tape raised me more than my family, and there’s a lot to be said about that.

Buy My Book!  Support Me Via Patreon!

I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I make, like my depressing webcomic “In Space, No One Can Hear You Cry”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my writing over at Medium. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!